#it makes Rochester look so much better than he is

[softly-and-suddenly]

I am constantly talking about how I don’t appreciate when film adaptations file down the complexities of classic literature and sanitize parts that aren’t marketable and melodramatize scenes for no reason. I hate so many adaptations for exactly those reasons.

But for some reason I cannot find it in myself to even slightly dislike the 2006 adaptation of Jane Eyre, even though it is rife with all of those things. I always think that I’m not going to get absolutely humbled by watching it and I always fucking do

[calisources]

𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐒, 𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐏𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.

All sentences were taken from difference media about age gap and age difference relationships, all acceptable relationships within consenting adults with age differences. Please do not use for teenagers or taboo relationships. These have some foul language or suggestive undertones so please beware. You can change names, pronouns, locations as you see fit.

I bet it doesn’t feel like this with that boy of yours, does it?

You’ll never know when I’m going to drag you into the darkness, pumping my cock into one of your tight holes. And you’ll take every inch like a good little girl.

What a tiny life we’d live if we fashioned ourselves to the comforts of others.

I think I'm a little old for that, love.

No, not old. But you're, you know, a man.

Tell me that you've never had anyone else. I want you to pretend.

You show me things I've forgotten.

Sometimes I think you must have seen it all before. That I can't show you anything new.

I like you as you are, he said. Even if you're going to wear me out.

I’m rough with your body sometimes, but I’ll always be gentle with your soul. She bruises far more easily.

This prince is a few years younger than you, and does not have much experience.

I must have forgotten how young you would be, Princess. Has there ever been a sovereign of such tender age?

Who is to say what love is or what it wants to be, the shape it takes, or how quickly it comes on? Love has always made a fool of time.

I don’t feel old. As a matter of fact, sitting here with you makes me feel older, not younger. Nothing is rubbing off.

Mr. Rochester was about forty, and this governess not twenty; and you see, when gentlemen of his age fall in love with girls, they are often like as if they were bewitched.

He's old enough to be your father.

Tonks deserves somebody young and whole.

But she wants you. And after all, Remus, young and whole men do not necessarily remain so.

Age is no barrier. It's a limitation you put on your mind.

Age considers; youth ventures.

Age, like distance lends a double charm. 

I'm a strong believer that a good relationship can work, whatever the situation. 

Love knows no boundaries, not even the ones defined by age.

Don’t let society’s judgment define your love. Follow your heart, despite the age difference.

Most people would be upset they get an old man as their husband.  

Do not worry about your age, Ser. The lady pays attention not to age but prowess.

I will not let time choose my lovers for me. I trust my own judgement. 

You should look to more prosperous gardens, Your Grace.

I was sixteen years old when you were born.

No doubt you were much my superior in judgement at that period of our lives; but does not the lapse of one-and-twenty years bring our understandings a good deal nearer?

Come, my dear Emma, let us be friends, and say no more about it. 

I have seldom seen a face or figure more pleasing to me than hers. But I am a partial old friend.

If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.

We spend more time discussing this matter than being together as a couple. And I believe you are doing it on purpose.

You think my attention is as fickle that I would look elsewhere.

Perhaps it would be you who looks elsewhere. A handsome older man must have youthful maidens at his disposal.

If we were closer in age, it would've been fine.

I have loved you since the moment I helped you with your zipper. 

Would it make you feel better if I call you Daddy while you fuck me?

You’ll be a silver fox before 40 at this rate.

Well, it’s definitely your fault. You stress me out. You’re making my hair turn white.

It’s easy to cast opinions when your heart isn’t the one invested.

I hope you love me, because I love you like crazy, and I'm going to want you the rest of my life.

You already know the truth. And I will be by your side, but I am not good for you.

I am tired of others getting to choose who is good for me. You do that quite often, frequently. 

You'll keep your name. You'll keep your will. You'll have your own servants to attend you— you will have everything you ask for.

Don't ask me to let you do. Do you understand? Do not ask me.

It might be best for us, for myself, if I found myself useful elsewhere.

I wish you could just slow down so I could catch up to you.

Stamina is not an issue. But rather what others will whisper.

When are you going to get over this? All I did was touch your leg.

Why would it matter if someone saw you saying hello to me?

But it’s nice to be around you. Like I haven’t lost a decade of my life.

I been in love with you since I was six, fool. 

I will always belong to you, but I’m afraid there will be others after me. I’m not a young man/woman.

A kiss ... a muse. It is a question, an unlocked door. It is ... elation ... and anguish.

You have treated me better than any young man my age. Why should I go for either of them? 

Young men are eager lovers. I prefer my lovers to take their time. I’m sure with men is the same.

You make me feel really safe. i’m not used to that.

You gave an old man purpose again. And that is more than I can ask of you.

I was a child then, with a crush and a dream. As I grew, dreams changed but you remain the one in my dreams.

I have thought about kissing you a lot. What would that make me?

I have more in common with you than men my age.

Do not pretend to think what I think.

More recently, there are rumors she prefers her lovers to be younger. Truth to be told, I don’t blame her.

I will teach you in time, but for now restrain me and have your way with me. I don’t want to think, I just want to feel.

We have never done anything to be ashamed of. You’ve never done anything to be ashamed of.

Personally, I think the difference keeps us interesting in another another. 

You can teach me all you wish, and I can learn. I know I can.

There is always a wild side to an innocent face.

You are being too forward right now, my lady. Be careful.

There would be other loves. Even great loves. But she was right, only one remained perfect.

Maybe there are some people you marry and people you love.

Just so you know, you're a natural lover. Your body expresses beautifully what's in your heart.

I have never felt so alive... as when I am in your arms.

A 5 to 7 relationship is a relationship outside of marriage.

You're older than I am, you're wiser I'm sure and you've seen much more of the world.

[lunarriviera]

another thrilling spirealm update

henlo my friends yes it's that time once again where i tell you what is happening on the bizarrely named drama "the spirealm," i am at episode 25 having shotgunned it all weekend and i have thoughts, opinions, and a gabillion screencaps of ruan nanzhu looking stricken, i finally had to stop taking them because he has the exact same face of devastated yearning in all of them and i was filling up my cloud drive. spoilers ahoy! [parts one and two are here if you even care]

as just mentioned, ruan nanzhu spends his time looking either 1) icily indifferent (when people who aren't qiushi are talking to him and/or dying in front of him, to his vast annoyance) or 2) torn asunder by pangs of desire (whenever he's staring at qiushi, who's babbling obliviously about science or clues or absolutely nothing of any importance whatsoever). here is a representative screencap but he has this look on his face pretty much continually, like he's just been hit by a car. a car of love.

it makes me put my head in my hands and scream quietly, i haven't seen a BL actor who understood the assignment this well since zhang xincheng or maybe even z1l. (who all clearly not only read the novel but underlined it, highlighted it, and stuck in colored post-it notes.) when not busy with adoration, he swans around being magnificent in a frockcoat like he's edward rochester, while lin qiushi trails behind him wearing a fit he got out of the goodwill box in his college dorm.

in spite of being besties with a literal fashion icon, at no point does it ever seem to occur to lingling "hm maybe i should dress a bit more formally for my imminent demise inside the doors"—no, instead he proudly wears his ratty sweatshirt with holes in it. which i sort of think might belong to huang junjie. idk maybe qiushi trusts it, and feels safe in it, hey look at that i made it sad.

massive power couple energy. also notice how their outfits are exact black-and-white negatives of each other, the harper's bazaar wedding photoshoot would have been so goddamn lit.

taking a brief moment for a shoutout to this guy. chen fei i don't even know what your fate will be but i already know you deserved better. not only do you patch everyone up with your veterinary knowledge, but i have seen your unrequited love. it did not go unobserved. you would have been a great partner, you're unimpressed by everything and drink your soy milk with chilling apathy. i'm real sorry the theatre gay didn't love you back. you're too similar i guess.

back to lin qiushi who has the worst case of main character energy since harry freaking potter. somehow the game is about him??? he has trauma??? none of this was in the novel and i'm just pretending it's not happening until it becomes impossible to ignore. in the meantime he continues to sympathize with door ghosts because he's just that nice of a guy. (EXCEPTION: nanzhu literally murdered two competitors bc they threatened his darling, and lin qiushi helped him cover it up. i was appalled for like 5 minutes then i shrugged. it's a cutthroat game, the doors change people. also it's like captain mal used to say: if someone tries to kill you, you kill 'em right back.) i have big Theories about what is fixing to happen but for now i will end by relating that lin qiushi has gone into a door alone, because he wants to butch up and be a better partner for ruan nanzhu. and that would be a great idea and super helpful except that nanzhu IMMEDIATELY WENT OUT OF HIS MIND WITH BLIND TERROR. outwardly of course he gives no signs of this (other than hiring someone to protect his fragile boyfriend, which, if lingling figures this out, ruan nanzhu will be sleeping on the sofa forever).

here he is pushing food around his plate miserably at lingling's funeral pre-solo-door party. everyone is having such a fun time.

and here he is standing in front of the door waiting like a dumb wounded animal. i have a feeling if lin qiushi doesn't emerge at 15 minutes on the dot, nanzhu will simply expire on the spot, like a wolf separated from its mate. maybe that's the end of the spirealm JUST KIDDING, we still haven't gotten to the part where they're on either side of a different door wailing at each other. i really need lin qiushi to stop being such a cheery equanimous little frat boy and START SUFFERING, can we get some mutual pining up in this bitch. (also i need his hair to change in the traditional BL post-wedding hairstyle alteration because i can't remember at this point if huang junjie even HAS a forehead under that vast curtain of bangs)

to sum up, we've had a) sexy handfeeding of lychees b) tender cat fur removal from face and c) stalking your pretty boyfriend aggressively against the wall so you can…offer him a packet of disinfectant. in the novel of course nanzhu bites him and yes xia zhiguang absolutely knows that's what he's supposed to be doing here, we love to see it.

oh and also d) "i'll protect you. i'll protect you forever."

SOON: THE THRILLING CONCLUSION. IT'LL BE SO FUCKING SAD. PS unrelated to any of this but the OST SLAPS and i sing along every time now, that opening song is an unskippable cut scene of a banger

PS gonna be sad when [redacted] dies, he's a real card. and that other person dies too. and that third person. shit it's about to get messy

[bethanydelleman]

I forgot if I already asked you or just thought about it:

Do you think Adele is Mr. Rochester's biological daughter? He doesn't think so and Jane couldn't find any resemblance between them but maybe she just takes after her mother a lot? But I have to admit it's a better look for Mr. Rochester if he takes in the illegitimate daughter of the woman that cheated on him out of pity than his own child out of obligation.

Either way I think Adele is a very sad character although it doesn't seem to bother her. Then again, she's only seven when we meet her.

I think it's impossible to know if Adele is Rochester's or not, because some kids don't look much like their father and DNA testing won't be around for about 150 years. I will always find his confident denial ridiculous.

That said, I think he denies Adele is his child because that makes him more of the hero of Adele's story than just someone acting out of obligation. However, it would also be pretty impossible for anyone to force him to take care of Adele, what with international borders and proof that Adele's mother was unfaithful, so I do think that Rochester's care of his maybe-daughter is admirable, no matter what you believe about her parentage.

Adele does seem to have landed in good hands, so I don't exactly feel sorry for her. She is doing better than the majority of natural children born in this era. Also, I find her characterization freaking hilarious. It's VERY revealing of Charlotte Brontë's prejudices. Here are two quotes:

I e’en took the poor thing out of the slime and mud of Paris, and transplanted it here, to grow up clean in the wholesome soil of an English country garden.

As she grew up, a sound English education corrected in a great measure her French defects; and when she left school, I found in her a pleasing and obliging companion: docile, good-tempered, and well-principled.

It's pretty heavily implied that Adele, either by nature or very early FRENCH nurture, is going to grow up into some sort of harlot unless they ENGLISH her away from the depths of Hell. And the way Jane Eyre talks about the French mother seducing the poor English Rochester, as if he didn't wander into France with the exact intention of finding a mistress... Well Charlotte Brontë seems to think very poorly of the French is all I'll say, despite the fact that she could clearly speak and write French herself.

[help-an-alter]

3 fragments that need name idea stuff.

all masculine aligned

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one seems to have latched onto corey taylor from slipknot, he wants names with themes of slipknot, similar to the name corey, red/dark themes, morbid/gloomy themes,,

---

one seemed to have latched onto jd from korn somewhat?? he mostly wants korn themed names, names similar to jonathan/jd, gloomy nostalgic/emo themes

---

one latched onto the band jesus loves junkies (mostly the themes of it and the lead singer) kind of and wants names related to the name jeff, dark religion/christian themes, demonic/morbid themes, gorey themes. they also are looking for maybe a couple neopronouns perhaps of similar themes if possible (or more leaning towards non-object related pronouns, if that makes sense?)

---------------------------

hope that isnt too much! we love your blog by the way as a polyfrag sys trying to better organize everything and such!! youre all amazing for helping systems out and for making identity finding not so stressful :3 /gen

THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN!! i love metal & hard rock, these were an absolute pleasure to do! i hope they help! they're all shoved together, just a longer list than normal! the pronouns were a bit confusing but i hope these help!!

names: karson, caine/kaine, kanine, freak, kaydence, rory, crimson, vermillion, sid, abbadon, apollyon, asmo, kore, mania, cronus, lucian, lucius, salem, korbin, kyron, rochester, hyde, eldritch, andy, alex, kadaver, morgue, mortuary, declan, damien, draven, sin, syn, sinister.

pronouns: xe/xem, ze/zem, mel/melancholic, sor/sorrows, gor/gorey, saint/saints, anti/antichrist, carnage/carnageself, sin/sinister, dae/daemon, mal/malevolant, mal/malicious.

things they may enjoy: listening to metal/rock bands (absolutely recommend ice nine kills), watching horror movies, researching crime cases (especially cold cases), making bracelets, learning how to scream (if you guys cant).

[eyreguide]

Review Jane Eyre the Musical - Theatre Raleigh Production

Earlier this year, Theatre Raleigh in North Carolina premiered the updated production of Jane Eyre the Musical by Paul Gordon and John Caird. Jane Eyre the Musical had its Broadway run back in 2000, and it is still my favorite musical version of Jane Eyre. Caird and Gordon brought Jane's story to life in an incredible way - capturing the lyricism of the novel in a way that felt true to the book, while also bringing all the emotion of the story in the beautiful melodies. I loved the Broadway cast of Marla Schaffel and James Barbour in their roles as Jane and Rochester, and still listen to the original cast recording on a regular basis.

Recently, Caird and Gordon decided to rework the musical into a "chamber piece". With a simpler orchestral accompaniment, slimmed down cast (different roles were covered by multiple people), and some changes to the lyrics and flow of the musical. I was excited to see this new version, and although I couldn't make it to North Carolina to see the show (and I really tried to make it happen, but life events got in the way), I was able to watch it through the special livestream event Theatre Raleigh held this past weekend. I'm happy to share my thoughts on it here!

Julie Benko stars as Jane Eyre in this production, and she is almost always on stage - a difficult feat for quite a lengthy production, but she was wonderful! In the early part of Jane's story, older Jane would wander around young Jane as she watched over her and relive the memories of her youth. The poignancy of older Jane and younger Jane together is such a highlight of this production. It gives so much emotional depth to Jane's story. Especially so when towards the end, Jane comes to see Mrs. Reed on her deathbed, and young Jane just stands off to the side - a specter that Mrs. Reed sometimes looks at, as she is reminded of how she treated Jane as a child. Ada Manie played young Jane as well as Adele, and her performance was also fantastic - I believed her as both characters.

Matt Bogart played Mr. Rochester, and I also found his performance to be magnificent. He played the mercurial nature of Rochester perfectly, and while the romance does proceed very quickly, I am so familiar with the duets in the show (Sirens and Secret Soul) that their romantic interest in each other feels perfectly valid when illustrated by song. I did watch this with my husband who had never seen this musical version (although he has read the book), and he felt that the rushed romance was the only real disappointment he had in this version.

Some of the lyric changes were surprising to me. I only got to watch this once, so perhaps they would make better sense if I watched it a second time, but a lot of it seemed unnecessary. The original was already so good. They did cut a few songs as well - Mrs. Fairfax's "Perfectly Nice", Blanche Ingrams's "The Finer Things", and Jane's later song "Rain" (cuts I didn't mind) and Mr. Rochester's "Farewell Good Angel" which was one I kind of missed, but I understand that it really focuses on Jane leaving rather than Rochester's reaction.

I still hope to see this version in person someday - whenever there is a new production of it in the U.S. I find it such a moving portrait of the novel, capturing the passion and the sentiment, and making it all feel real. ... In a heightened sort of way of course. I'm so glad that they released a filmed version of this, and I hope this production might be available to buy someday!

Here is the Theatre Raleigh playbill to see the full cast! https://theatreraleigh.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/06/Jane-Eyre-Playbill.pdf

[crescentcampbell]

Wouldn't You Like to Know, Ch. 14

AO3 link here and Wattpad here. Fourteen

Colin hadn’t really planned on kissing Penelope in the elevator. But she was wearing that pastel blue dress that showed off her curves, she smelled of perfume, and he hadn’t been able to stop himself. His whole family seeing them kiss was a happy accident that he planned to use to his advantage even though Penelope kept looking at him like he she wanted to murder him. Meanwhile, Benedict had walked over to him and whispered, “Was that planned? Mom will be sending out wedding invitations before Christmas.”

Colin smirked. “Kissing her? Yes. Her hitting the elevator door button to open it so the whole family would see? No.”

Benedict chuckled. “Better you than me.”

They went into the family room. Hyacinth and Gregory were away at school, so they wouldn’t be there. “Where’s Anthony and Kate?” Colin asked.

“They’re running late,” said Violet, “so they said we could start without them.”

“Where’s Francesca?” Penelope asked.

“In Scotland,” Violet said, “she’s been studying abroad there. She keeps on joking she’s never coming home.” Violet laughed in a way that Colin knew she was in denial, but he shook his head. Francesca had always complained about how loud home was because there were too many of them. Simone and Daphne are still in London, but they’ll be coming for Christmas. Penelope, will you be here for Christmas?”

Colin glanced at the redhead, who was blushing almost as red as her hair. “Uh….I just got here,” said Penelope, “and I’m not sure what my Christmas plans are.”

Colin smirked. “Count Pen in, Mom.”

Penelope looked at him like he’d lost it. “Colin---I uh, I have a family of my own, you know, and I don’t know how long…”

He reached underneath the table and squeezed her thigh. He had brought her to Sunday dinner because he knew that once Violet had the idea in her head that he was dating Penelope, she would stop at nothing to make it happen. Penelope had always been her favorite of the Featherington’s, and the favorite of her children’s friends. Violet had always reminded his brothers to dance with Pen when they were at school, or a party, so she wasn’t such an outcast. He often thought his mother saw something of herself in Penelope, and that was why she liked her so much.

After Violet was in on the relationship, he could work on bringing Penelope around to actually dating him for real. But he had to get her to admit to being Lulu Rochester first. He didn’t want there being any secrets between them.

He also wished he could be rid of his family, and be alone with Penelope. She looked so hot and sweet in that dress, he wanted to tear it off her. “We’re here!” his brother’s fiancé, Kate Sharma, called cheerfully.

She came in with Anthony, holding hands.

Colin eyed the two of them. The last he had seen them together; they’d been bickering at a corporate anniversary party for the magazine his father used to own. When he first met Kate, he had thought her domineering, and didn’t see how she would manage to work alongside his brother. But once they both admitted their feelings for each other, the work became a lot smoother.

Kate was all smiles, and his usually hardened, arrogant brother had at least some now, compared to when he had none.

“Sorry we’re late, Mom.” Anthony walked over to where Violet sat at the head of the table and kissed her on the cheek. “We had a few things we needed to get done at the office.” Anthony’s gaze landed on Penelope then.

“Penny!” he smiled when he saw her. “I didn’t think you’d ever come back here. Did you and Eloise finally make up?”

Eloise rolled her eyes. “No, I’m not the sibling she’s here with.”

Benedict chuckled. “No one’s made up, but she has been making out with Colin.”

Colin grinned.

Penelope through a spoon at Benedict’s head and he narrowly dodged it.

“Hey!” he shouted. “That was unnecessary.”

“Funny, because it felt necessary,” Penelope hissed.

Colin winked at Pen. “Good to be back, isn’t it?”

“Wait, you and Penny are dating, Colin?” Anthony said.

Penelope groaned and sank down in her chair, covering her face in her hands. Even Eloise laughed a little at this, but Pen, he noted, did not throw a spoon at Eloise.

Colin chuckled. “Absofuckinglutely.”

Anthony walked over and patted him on the shoulder. “Good on you, brother. It’s about time you two finally got together. You two had that crush on each other for ages.”

The room fell silent then, and Penelope was suddenly not sliding down in her chair. She glared at Colin. “I’m sorry, CRUSH?”

It was now Colin who wanted to throw a spoon at his brother, only Anthony instead of Benedict. He winced. “Listen, Pen, I think we should discuss this---”

“No!” she said. “What’s he talking about? What crush, Colin Bridgerton? Because you always told me that you didn’t like me like that and that we were better off as friends. Were you lying to me this whole time?”

“Pen I---”

She got up from her seat and stormed off. So much for a nice, fucking family dinner. He got up and ran after her. “No!” she turned and shouted at him. “I fooled myself into thinking that I could do this, but you----you always find a way to make me feel small somehow.”

She pressed the elevator door.

“Pen, come on. You can’t leave.”

“Can’t I?” she said. “It’s not high school anymore. I definitely can.”

The door to the elevator opened. She stepped through. Maybe she was right. Maybe there was too much history between them, and bringing her to the house was a mistake. But she didn’t know everything about him and Marina. And he might have read her story, but he hadn’t told her his.

The elevator door closed and Colin stared back at his family.

“Did I say something wrong?” Anthony said.

“Fuck, Anthony,” Colin hissed, “I never told her I liked her in high school. I lied about it because of the movies I was doing with Marina.”

Benedict coughed. “Don’t stand here arguing with our idiot brother, Colin. Go after her. Obviously.”

Colin sighed. “You are all a pain in the ass.” He didn’t take the elevator. He took the stairs instead and he ran all the way to the bottom floor, somehow managing to get there exactly right as the door opened.

Only it wasn’t Penelope that came out. It was Portia Featherington. Penelope’s mother. “Fuck.” 

[asharkapologist]

A Day Off

A/N: this is just a silly little one-shot regarding my favorite rare pair in Criminal Case, Archie Rochester x Elisa Melody. This one-shot also prominently features Sebastian, one of @chelleinyy 's wonderful OCs!

However, TW for one brief mention of suicide, as well as spoilers for Mysteries of the Past.

With that being said, thank you for reading.

Archie Rochester had only been Deputy Mayor Lawson’s assistant for a week, and already Sebastian was concerned that Lawson was going to permanently damage his vocal cords with his constant bellowing at his assistant. 

Not that Sebastian could particularly blame him. Archie was a very unlikable, self-important young man. Sebastian was civil to him, but some days prior, he’d had the great misfortune of being stuck in the same room as him while the mayor and deputy mayor had a private meeting. Archie had prattled on about his accolades and his family’s power, while Sebastian had employed his talent of appearing attentive while barely paying any attention to Archie. Sebastian had dealt with people ruder than Archie, but Sebastian knew better than to antagonize the Rochesters. 

After all, because of Archie’s Mr. Alastor parties, six people, seven if you counted his valet who had taken his own life, had died. Even if Archie had not killed anyone himself and the murderers had worked independently without Archie’s influence--with the exception of his valet, of course--Sebastian was not about to make an enemy of him.

And that was not even mentioning Archie’s father, Senator Rochester, whom Sebastian had seen far more frequently. The man was cheerful and affable, especially to the mayor, but Sebastian was not an idiot. He knew tragic, unexpected, and mysterious fates tended to befall people who criticized the Rochesters or did too well in political campaigns against the senator. 

Sebastian sighed deeply away from the confines of the courthouse as he walked down the busy streets of Ivory Hill. He had been feeling somewhat helpless this past week. Mayor Castletown had recently, conveniently, disappeared for a fishing trip around the time Archie had been appointed as Deputy Mayor Lawson’s assistant. Sebastian suspected Castletown had done so in hopes that the anger his deputy mayor was feeling towards Malcolm Rochester would fade after the senator passed the bill monopolizing the press, and Castletown would be able to return to a harmonious Concordia. A Concordia free of strife between the deputy mayor and senator; a Concordia free of the multiple problems that had been recently affecting it.

Given how Deputy Mayor Lawson had had three verbal confrontations with Senator Rochester within the past week, all of which ended with Lawson either angrily shouting at the senator or storming from the room while Malcolm looked on with an innocent smile, Sebastian suspected the mayor’s hopes would be in vain.

Justin Lawson had taken the helm as much as he could as interim mayor while the actual mayor was gone, but many things he truly wanted to do--such as throw Malcolm Rochester out of office, Sebastian suspected--were unable to be done without proof of wrongdoing, or were outside of the limits of his office. Sebastian could not help but wonder, however, if Lawson was better equipped to be mayor than Castletown. Lawson was unlikely to blatantly ignore the severe problems Concordia struggled with, such as poverty and corruption. Sinner’s End and parts of New Haven and Coyote Gorge were testament to the fact that homelessness and poverty had only worsened over the past years, something Castletown had barely made an effort in fixing. 

Today, however, Justin Lawson might finally get a break from one of his least favorite members of the Rochester family, because although it was ten in the morning when Sebastian had left the courthouse some minutes prior, Archie had yet to appear at work.

Lawson had been simmering in his office for nearly three hours until he had finally approached Sebastian, who was sitting in the mayor’s office, trying to figure out what exactly he could do with his very limited power in the mayor’s absence as problems continued to mount, and said with an angry yet exasperated huff, “Sebastian, my assistant has decided not to appear at work today. I usually have him fetch me a cup of coffee…do you mind doing that for me, please? With all the sleepless nights I’ve spent recently, I desperately need it.”

Glad to be doing something useful to combat his growing sense of helplessness and feeling great amounts of pity for the deputy mayor, Sebastian had readily accepted the deputy mayor’s money and was now walking to Lawson’s favorite coffee shop to buy him a cup. He was halfway to the shop, a quick ten to fifteen minute walk away, and was passing by one of Ivory Hill’s illustrious parks.

His eyes wandered over to the park. Although it was November, Concordia was not a particularly freezing city, and while many people donned jackets and some blankets, several people were lying in the sun outside, napping, reading, or quietly conversing, carefree and free of worry, unlike him. His eyes fell on one particular young couple talking to each other on a blanket under a tree. Sometimes he wished that he could--

Wait.

Sebastian abruptly stopped walking and stared at the couple, shading his eyes from the sun and squinting at them.

Was that…?

He took a few steps closer to get a better look at the pair and his suspicions were correct. 

Archie Rochester was indeed one of the members of said couple, lying on his partner’s lap, looking up at her. 

Sebastian had seen several odd occurrences in his career, but still, his jaw dropped incredulously. For a start, he had not predicted that any woman would be interested in spending time with Archie after his Mr. Alastor scandal.

Sebastian searched his memory. He had seen that young woman before. She was a prominent party planner. Her name….Melody. Emma? Eliza? Elisa. That sounded right. Elisa Melody. 

Sebastian continued staring at Archie and Elisa. Although they were talking to each other, they were too far away for Sebastian to hear anything they were saying. 

Considering what had happened the last time Archie had attempted to woo a girl, Sebastian could not help but be slightly alarmed at Archie’s evident attraction to Miss Melody. Then again, when Archie was hosting his Mr. Alastor parties, Giulietta had not been aware of Archie’s obsession with her. Miss Melody was clearly very aware of Archie’s infatuation with her, given how she was allowing him to rest on her lap and seemed to be very much at ease. 

This was all a very rare moment of Archie being decent, deciding to casually speak with someone rather than what he would normally be doing now: antagonizing Lawson.

Well, for whatever reason Archie had skipped work, evidently to be with a young woman in the park, Lawson would still-- 

Lawson!

His coffee certainly wasn’t going to buy itself, and Lawson certainly deserved at the very least, a quickly-bought, hot cup of coffee. And standing and staring at Archie Rochester and Elisa Melody together in the park was not going to lead to Lawson drinking his coffee.

Forcing himself to tear his eyes away from the bizarre sight, Sebastian continued walking.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Some forty minutes later, Sebastian entered City Hall and hurried to the deputy mayor’s office with a cup of coffee in hand, taking care not to spill the liquid onto his clothes, hands, or the floor. The line had been somewhat long at the coffee shop, and Sebastian had waited anxiously for his order to be taken and processed, his thoughts swirling between concern regarding Lawson’s high-strung emotions, and Sebastian’s puzzlement regarding Archie and Elisa. Upon hurrying back to City Hall, he had vowed that he would not be distracted by looking at the bizarre couple in the park. However, his curiosity had betrayed him, and he had been unable to stop his eyes from flitting back to the two of them ever so briefly as he passed the park. They had ceased talking, and instead appeared to be sleeping, nestled quite close to each other, which had only created more questions in Sebastian’s mind. 

“Thank you, Sebastian,” Lawson said, gratefully accepting the coffee. “It is wonderful to have a cup of coffee that is actually hot. Archie seems quite incapable of ever delivering coffee in an acceptable state to me; that brat always delivers room temperature coffee at best and cold coffee at worst, all with an insufferable smirk on his face; that pest is such a--”

Sebastian allowed Lawson to continue to air his grievances about his assistant, nodding and making verbal assents when appropriate, but his focus was elsewhere. He supposed that he could imagine Archie displaying public displays of affection, given his… strong feelings for Giulietta Capecchi, but his actions as Mr. Alastor were quite the red flag, so to speak. He was still not entirely sure why anyone would bother to enter into a romantic relationship with him. 

But while, unlike Archie, Elisa Melody was not morally questionable and Sebastian had never spoken to the party planner, he had heard that she could be somewhat rude and snappy, even if she was excellent at her work. It was difficult to imagine such a young woman like her, not being known for holding back her opinions, being interested in someone like Archie, who was not known for his kindness. 

But there they had been, both looking happy in each other’s company, Archie being unconcerned that he was skipping work, certainly privileged enough to believe he could get away with such truancy. But none of that explained how--

“Sebastian?” Lawson said, Sebastian’s attention snapped back at the deputy mayor, realizing he had been staring vaguely at the man, but not focusing on him. “Are you alright?”

Sebastian was no worse than he had been that morning, he supposed, just madly confused. But he knew that mentioning that he had seen Archie in the park would lead to nothing positive. He had a sudden image in his mind of the deputy mayor storming from City Hall, running to the park, and searching for his unruly assistant, yelling Archie’s name. That would be quite the embarrassing spectacle, although the press would be sure to love such a show. 

Lawson was already angry at his assistant. Either way, Sebastian mentioning he had seen him would worsen Lawson’s mood, and perhaps cause more rounds of ranting and gesticulating about how irresponsible, immature, and useless his assistant was. 

Sebastian would certainly visit Archie later and update him on his employer’s state, imploring him to return to work the next day, however. Lawson was close to his breaking point, and his assistant abandoning his duties a second day was sure to drive the deputy mayor closer to the edge and create more headaches for Sebastian. 

And with what he hoped was a reassuring, rather than forced, positive demeanor, said, “Yes, Deputy Mayor Lawson. Everything is perfectly fine.”

[ahistoricalmencgerie]

wouldn't let me reblog so I'm just borrowing

𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐒, 𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐏𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.

All sentences were taken from difference media about age gap and age difference relationships, all acceptable relationships within consenting adults with age differences. Please do not use for teenagers or taboo relationships. These have some foul language or suggestive undertones so please beware. You can change names, pronouns, locations as you see fit.

I bet it doesn’t feel like this with that boy of yours, does it?

You’ll never know when I’m going to drag you into the darkness, pumping my cock into one of your tight holes. And you’ll take every inch like a good little girl.

What a tiny life we’d live if we fashioned ourselves to the comforts of others.

I think I'm a little old for that, love.

No, not old. But you're, you know, a man.

Tell me that you've never had anyone else. I want you to pretend.

You show me things I've forgotten.

Sometimes I think you must have seen it all before. That I can't show you anything new.

I like you as you are, he said. Even if you're going to wear me out.

I’m rough with your body sometimes, but I’ll always be gentle with your soul. She bruises far more easily.

This prince is a few years younger than you, and does not have much experience.

I must have forgotten how young you would be, Princess. Has there ever been a sovereign of such tender age?

Who is to say what love is or what it wants to be, the shape it takes, or how quickly it comes on? Love has always made a fool of time.

I don’t feel old. As a matter of fact, sitting here with you makes me feel older, not younger. Nothing is rubbing off.

Mr. Rochester was about forty, and this governess not twenty; and you see, when gentlemen of his age fall in love with girls, they are often like as if they were bewitched.

He's old enough to be your father.

Tonks deserves somebody young and whole.

But she wants you. And after all, Remus, young and whole men do not necessarily remain so.

Age is no barrier. It's a limitation you put on your mind.

Age considers; youth ventures.

Age, like distance lends a double charm. 

I'm a strong believer that a good relationship can work, whatever the situation. 

Love knows no boundaries, not even the ones defined by age.

Don’t let society’s judgment define your love. Follow your heart, despite the age difference.

Most people would be upset they get an old man as their husband.  

Do not worry about your age, Ser. The lady pays attention not to age but prowess.

I will not let time choose my lovers for me. I trust my own judgement. 

You should look to more prosperous gardens, Your Grace.

I was sixteen years old when you were born.

No doubt you were much my superior in judgement at that period of our lives; but does not the lapse of one-and-twenty years bring our understandings a good deal nearer?

Come, my dear Emma, let us be friends, and say no more about it. 

I have seldom seen a face or figure more pleasing to me than hers. But I am a partial old friend.

If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.

We spend more time discussing this matter than being together as a couple. And I believe you are doing it on purpose.

You think my attention is as fickle that I would look elsewhere.

Perhaps it would be you who looks elsewhere. A handsome older man must have youthful maidens at his disposal.

If we were closer in age, it would've been fine.

I have loved you since the moment I helped you with your zipper. 

Would it make you feel better if I call you Daddy while you fuck me?

You’ll be a silver fox before 40 at this rate.

Well, it’s definitely your fault. You stress me out. You’re making my hair turn white.

It’s easy to cast opinions when your heart isn’t the one invested.

I hope you love me, because I love you like crazy, and I'm going to want you the rest of my life.

You already know the truth. And I will be by your side, but I am not good for you.

I am tired of others getting to choose who is good for me. You do that quite often, frequently. 

You'll keep your name. You'll keep your will. You'll have your own servants to attend you— you will have everything you ask for.

Don't ask me to let you do. Do you understand? Do not ask me.

It might be best for us, for myself, if I found myself useful elsewhere.

I wish you could just slow down so I could catch up to you.

Stamina is not an issue. But rather what others will whisper.

When are you going to get over this? All I did was touch your leg.

Why would it matter if someone saw you saying hello to me?

But it’s nice to be around you. Like I haven’t lost a decade of my life.

I been in love with you since I was six, fool. 

I will always belong to you, but I’m afraid there will be others after me. I’m not a young man/woman.

A kiss ... a muse. It is a question, an unlocked door. It is ... elation ... and anguish.

You have treated me better than any young man my age. Why should I go for either of them? 

Young men are eager lovers. I prefer my lovers to take their time. I’m sure with men is the same.

You make me feel really safe. i’m not used to that.

You gave an old man purpose again. And that is more than I can ask of you.

I was a child then, with a crush and a dream. As I grew, dreams changed but you remain the one in my dreams.

I have thought about kissing you a lot. What would that make me?

I have more in common with you than men my age.

Do not pretend to think what I think.

More recently, there are rumors she prefers her lovers to be younger. Truth to be told, I don’t blame her.

I will teach you in time, but for now restrain me and have your way with me. I don’t want to think, I just want to feel.

We have never done anything to be ashamed of. You’ve never done anything to be ashamed of.

Personally, I think the difference keeps us interesting in another another. 

You can teach me all you wish, and I can learn. I know I can.

There is always a wild side to an innocent face.

You are being too forward right now, my lady. Be careful.

There would be other loves. Even great loves. But she was right, only one remained perfect.

Maybe there are some people you marry and people you love.

Just so you know, you're a natural lover. Your body expresses beautifully what's in your heart.

I have never felt so alive... as when I am in your arms.

A 5 to 7 relationship is a relationship outside of marriage.

You're older than I am, you're wiser I'm sure and you've seen much more of the world.

[lucero-is-here]

Here is a short featuring Arthur Wright and Bernadine Rochester! Not my best work, but let’s go! _______________________________________________

“Good to see you again Arthur…Thank you so much for your support during such a hard time…”

Bernadine thanked as she poured Arthur some tea, before sitting opposite him with her own cup.

“No problem my darling. I’m so sorry for your loss. Leopold Rochester was a good man. I also heard that you’re planning the funeral,”

Arthur said, taking a sip of tea as he looked at Bernadine with a soft, sympathetic look in his eyes.

“Yes…I hope to pay my respects to him. He was such a sweet man…He attended all my social events and gave his support to everyone,”

Bernadine said, a hint of sadness in her voice.

“Just know, that if you ever need anyone to talk to, or a shoulder to cry on, I’m always willing to make time for you darling,”

Arthur said, trying his best to sound as comforting as possible in such a sensitive moment.

“Mhm…Thank you darling. To think that Uncle Horatio would do something so despicable…But remembering how he treated some of the maids and unfortunately family, I should have expected it really,”

Bernadine said nonchalantly. Arthur choked on his tea hearing that, as he couldn’t help but wonder how awful Horatio could have been for his own niece to say that. Well- Horatio did intend to lock her away in gryphon sanctuary…But this had nothing to do that cursed asylum. Bernadine seemed to have realised Arthur’s shock and looked up at him.

“What? Did I offend you? Yes I know what I said may have been crude, since he is my uncle but it is true!”

Bernadine argued, getting extremely defensive as she shifted back a little, her eyes darting back and forth.

“What-? No- of course not. But well- if you don’t mind me asking, how did your uncle treat your family and the maids?”

Arthur asked, bracing himself for the worst.

“Oh- well…He was always extremely rude to the staff. Basically anyone who worked for us had to do things perfectly otherwise he’d yell at them so much they’d wish that they were never born- and then there is poor Viola’s mother. I can’t imagine how awful that poor woman must have had it…Being treated like an object instead of an actual human being by Uncle Horatio….”

Bernadine started ranting. Arthur listened attentively, not taking his eyes off of Bernadine for even a split moment. As he listened to her ranting, his blood was slowly boiling inside of him.

“And remember how I was sobbing to you the other day about something?”

Bernadine asked, snapping Arthur out of his thoughts as he blinked.

“Ah- pardon me…but yes. Of course. Why?”

Arthur asked, raising an eyebrow. Bernadine took a deep breath, as she squeezed her hands together.

“Well…I may have made the foolish mistake to go and visit Uncle Horatio in prison….I simply wanted to talk to him about what he has done and…Well…He said some really crude things…How I was nothing but a burden to the family, and I wasn’t “loyal” and all that…How he said he would have been more than happy to lock me away in Gryphon Sanctuary…That I was nothing more than a useless obstacle to the family…”

Bernadine mentioned, starting to get teary eyed again. This was the last straw, as Arthur’s expression completely changed from a look of horror to a mixture of horror and rage.

“But well…This is all in the past now isn’t it? Thank you for listening to me rant Arthur. This makes me feel so much more better about everything,”

Bernadine thanked, before she looked up at Arthur, who was starting to get lost in thoughts.

“Um…Arthur? Darling? Are you alright?”

Bernadine asked, standing up from her seat. She sounded a bit worried. Arthur didn’t reply. At the moment, Bernadine thought she upset Arthur, until he softly blurted out a small string of gibberish.

“…I’m sorry- what did you say-?”

Bernadine asked, looking puzzled.

“…Oh nothing. Just that Horatio is a good for nothing bastard that should be rotting in hell right now. But apparently, life has other plans for him,”

Arthur said mindlessly, completely overcome with rage. Hearing Arthur say this, Bernadine let out an audible gasp.

“Arthur! Don’t say such things! He may have done awful things but we shouldn’t be saying such- such god awful things to anyone!”

Bernadine exclaimed in shock.

“But it’s true. I don’t think anyone can argue with that,”

Arthur muttered, his composure coming back.

“Well I- …As much as I hate to admit it, it is true…”

Bernadine sighed, before sitting back down and burying her face into her hands.

“Well…If you ever need someone to rant to about such matters again….I’m here,”

Arthur mentioned. Bernadine stayed quiet for a while, as an awkward silence filled the room. Arthur was wondering if he had gone too far, speaking hus mind so carelessly like that. He got up from his seat, before walking over the Bernadine and sitting next to her.

“…I’m so sorry for being so crude. I let my emotions get the better of me. I’m so sorry Bernadine-”

Arthur apologised, but was cut off by Bernadine.

“No. Don’t apologise. Please. I can’t- …I don’t want to hear you saying sorry…”

Bernadine muttered, sounding miserable.

“…I- …Alright my darling. Is there anything i can do for you to make you feel better?”

Arthur asked.

“…I’d like a hug please.”

Bernadine requested.

Hearing that, Arthur smiled as he hugged Bernadine tightly. Bernadine lifted her head, before wrapping her arms around Arthur and hugging him back….

_______________________________________________

Whoo! I quite like this. Please do not steal my work, and I hope you enjoy this!

[susandsnell]

CHOOSE VIOLENCE: 12, 18, 22, 23

thanks so much maggie!!! sorry for the delay. hope you're well!!

choose violence ask game 🔥

12. The unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them.

pick any woman lmao. but i'm going to say i'm especially defensive of may welland from the age of innocence and amy march from little women. the former is hated for trying to put a stop to an affair her husband was having/protect herself from being left for another woman when before they ever got married, she told newland straight up he didn't have to marry her if he wasn't sure and his dumb ass was so indecisive he tried to have his cake and eat it too, and nearly ruined both their lives. as for amy, she's unjustly hated for the high crime of 1) being kind of bratty as a child and 2) having the audacity to marry laurie, who she loved, instead of jo who is a lesbian who did not/could not commit to him. Perhaps the view of this has been skewed by the 2019 flick where Florence Pugh is playing an 8 year old and a twentysomething, but it really says something that classic lit fandom will fawn over the most atrocious, insufferable men imaginable (Rochester should've roasted and I'll die on that hill) but if a little girl , a literal child, has an age-appropriate fit of rage once and argues with her sisters (do these people not...have siblings?), culminating in her destroys her sister's things and said sister is everyone's self insert character (except, conveniently, for her rejections/subversions of femininity GEE I WONDER WHY), that's apparently a bridge too far. Even if she's overall a sweet person and outgrows being, again, kind of annoying as a kid.

Also, does Carlotta Giudicelli from Phantom of the Opera count? (Let's go with the musical version here for argument's sake.) She's a bit of a diva, sure, but honestly she earned it and is iconic for it, and she literally just wanted workplace safety and to not be replaced by a significantly younger and skinnier performer based on someone in power's attraction to said performer, which is still a very real issue in the entertainment world! She takes no shit! She was kind of hard on Christine when she wasn't to blame but c'mon, I'd hardly be the most reasonable or understanding if there was a serial killer on the loose bumping off my coworkers who was constantly threatening my life and that of my partner, and had suffered public humiliation twice at the hands of said nutjob. And she then has to find her husband dead as almost an afterthought to the wider plot. TeamCarlotta, she did nothing wrong except be slightly rude under extremely upsetting circumstances. I think she was more disliked in past Phantom fandom than she is now, but c'mon. Feature her more in fanworks, she's a badass!

18. it’s absolutely criminal that the fandom has been sleeping on… I can't answer 'women' twice, but I will just say as a generality deconstructing popular fic tropes. Really pick apart the horrific implications of what a Soulmates/Reincarnation AU looks like when equipoised against one's free will. Or heck, make it funny - There Is Only One Bed and this sonofabitch keeps kicking me. Just keep things fresh!!!

22. your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores Ooh, tough one! Again, the cop-out answer is 'character's canonical flaws and worse moments, or their better points if they're worse characters' lolol, but I really in general get bummed when people shirk worldbuilding and cool concepts in service of the same handful of relationship tropes? Not to be one of those people who bitches about lacking gen while also not contributing gen content - I fully acknowledge myself I'm more into the relationship aspect of things, but whether it's the fullest potential of the Train in Infinity Train, the way the Force is deconstructed as some kind of horrific fate-controlling entity in Knights of the Old Republic 2, so so so so so much vampire lore/rules/mythos in any given vamp media and its fandom, I wish it was just acknowledged and played with more! You could even do so in service of ships/characterization if you're clever!

23. ship you’ve unwillingly come around to Another tough call! I tend to stick to my guns on ships and either end up liking them out of the gate and then that like can turn into total brainrot, or I just kind of dislike them and stay disliking them. If we're talking some real crack, I started as vaguely amused by Barbenheimer (the crossover ship based on the phenomenon) to getting surprisingly behind cracky content made for it. I'm sorry I don't have a more dramatic or satisfactory answer on this front, but as I said, I tend to stick around my early-formed opinions on ships, and most of them I approach from a neutral perspective to begin with and see if it's swayed by solid content, canon or fanon.

[elizaellwrites]

Legacy of the Fallen- Chapter 1

Link to Prologue

Table of Contents

Accepted

Dear Mother,

We’re moving again, such a surprise, I know. It’s so tiring, every single time, and now is no different. The past four years have been just above the line of disaster, every day either packing or unpacking, some of the boxes don’t even get touched before we leave again. I just want to go back to London, I miss Lydia so much, I haven't been able to make any friends since we don't stay long enough for that to happen. I know that Father says he needs to move for his job, but I don't know how he can even begin to take it.

I'm worried about him though, he's always so jumpy. He puts on this brave face and makes a joke and later I find him leaning against a wall, staring into space with this horribly sad look in his eyes. I know that he misses you and my sister, but this sadness runs deeper than that. I think he feels like he's failed. I don't exactly know why I think that, but I can't shake that feeling. We've moved to Rochester, Minnesota in the U.S. now, I honestly think this is a good step since Father told me of how his brother lives here. They lost their daughter not too long ago too, she was only few years older than me, so I think it's a good idea to have us here.

I'm still looking for the answer of why you left and where you went, it's really begun to frustrate me. When I was little, I could just accept that you were gone, but now it's like a pebble in my shoe that I can't get out. Life overall is just a mess and continues to be, I can only hope that one day things will be normal. Whatever the heck that is.

I'll write again soon, love your daughter,

Annamarie Rose Olson

____________________________

Annamarie Olson leaned her head carelessly against the school bus window, ignoring the slight pain that jolted through her head at every crack and dent on the road. She stared at her reflection in the slightly fogged window, leaning her head back as the bus brakes engaged to pick up another kid. She still found riding a school bus to be strange, they hadn’t existed where she’d grown up.

Her long golden blonde curls closely framed her face, ever threatening to fall over her eyes at the next large bump. Her lips were pulled tight, betraying the anxiety that was stirring in her gut. Her button nose was just ever so resting against the cool glass, just enough to make the skin tingle. She met her own gaze, pursing her lips as she did so. She knew that someone was going to mention them today, they always did, every time she switched schools. Her hooded eyes weren’t the problem, neither was the dramatic upturn that caught some attention. It was the fact that no one could figure out what colour her eyes were actually supposed to be. They were ever-changing, every single colour and shade making its appearance at some point, depending on the light or her mood or whatever it was. She didn’t hate it, but really, she wished people would just stop bringing it up.

She let out a soft sigh, letting her breath fog the window further. She refocused her eyes on the pavement, creating an imaginary trail with her gaze while they drove along. Anything she could do to distract her from the inevitable pattern of going to a new school would make her day better.

Truly, it was getting old. They didn’t have much to move with just the two of them, but place after place, lifting boxes and dragging around what little furniture they hadn’t sold. She was only fifteen, and she really didn’t think she was supposed to feel old already. The one hope she held about this place, above all the rest they had been, was her uncle.

Throughout the years, her father had hardly spoken of their family at all. When he did, he always spoke of them in the past tense, leading her to believe for many years that they had no other family. So when he had told her about Joseph, his brother who was only a year older than himself, she had been confused, to say the least. She had heard him talking on the phone with him many times over the last couple of months, their conversations only ever serious or sombre. What they were talking about, however, she didn’t pry.

They had been living in Minnesota for a week at that point, and her opinion of the place was no different from many other places. Whether they stayed here or left, she just wanted to settle back down, just as they had when she was younger. She knew that her father had been a restless spirit since her mother was gone, having trusted friends watch her while he was gone for weeks at a time, sometimes coming home more disheartened than when he left. She missed him during the times he was gone, but he had always overcompensated when he came home, the affection and care he had shown her as a single father leaving her unable to hold resentment of any sort. She supposed he had waited until he deemed her old enough to travel with him, as the borderline nomadic lifestyle was not one for a kid. She had been able to see some amazing sights, however, travelling much further distances than most her age.

She shifted her posture as they pulled to another stop, knowing that they had to be nearing the end of the pickup route. The bus had already been moderately full when she had boarded, though she still had the pleasure of not having to share her seat; something she hoped would not change.

She shuffled her feet in discomfort, her fingers gripping each other in her lap. Contrary to what people in towns or smaller cities she’d lived in, growing up in a big city did not make her comfortable in crowds. They were suffocating, the clamour of voices, especially children’s, made her ears ring, and their unspoken voices in the back of her head became so loud she couldn’t pretend they weren’t there anymore. Her father had taught her that talking about the things others said without speaking aloud was considered incredibly rude by most people, and indeed whenever she accidentally brought up something that an unspoken voice had said, others acted shocked and completely disturbed, as though she’d broken the biggest rule in human society. So, she tried to ignore the continuous noise and forced it down, like everyone else was presumably doing.

It did confuse her though when some other people said that hearing unspoken voices was a bad sign of schizophrenia. How could anyone possibly know the difference between that and regular chatter? She sank in her seat, her arm brushing along the textured material of her backpack. Outside, houses continued to fly by, their designs and colours all seemingly the same. She shivered as the girl seated a few seats in front of her reached up and pulled the small window open. The blend of sweet grass and the musty rain from earlier that morning sent a fuzzy feeling through her body: the smell of spring.

The bus took a right turn, revealing the view of the school from her seat on the left side of the vehicle. She sat up in her seat, her hand unconsciously sweeping her hair back from her face, wincing slightly as her index finger caught and released a small tangle.

They passed a small, unfenced baseball field, a large grassy field rising on the edges up to the road they were now driving on. Further to the back of the field, a fenced-in sports field of some sort, with audience stands surrounding it blocked out the view of the neighbourhood behind. She turned her attention to the school itself, the cold, concrete structure nothing more than a three-story cube. It was almost comedic, how much it looked like a prison, the only pieces missing being the guards and barbed wire fences. Well, the fence around the sports field looks similar enough, she decided. As they grew closer, she could see brown brick accents in small alcoves that lined the walk along the ground floor, the only colour being a rusted blue accent under each window, all of which added insult to injury and made the building look completely bizarre.

The bus made a final left turn into the oval-shaped unloading zone, stopping just short of being in front of the only indent in the structure. As soon as they halted, every student stood and began shoving their way into the narrow aisle. Anna shouldered her backpack, the bag feeling unnaturally empty against her. She stood slowly, eyes darting to each person who passed. She knew that she was average in height at five-foot-four inches, but so many of the other students walking through easily dwarfed her.

Finally, the flow had begun to slow, only a few other others scattered throughout the vehicle being patient enough to wait. She shifted out of her seat carefully, her feet hesitating more than her head as they momentarily paused on the last step down to the pavement. A scoff and a light push on her backpack from the boy behind her caused her to take the last step, having to try and prevent herself from stumbling further as he pushed past her, jogging over to join a group of other boys who looked her age.

She continued at a slow pace away from the bus, looking around at the groups gathered around the entrance, only a few students making the journey directly into the building. She lowered her gaze, somewhat self-conscious as her mind bustled with the whispers in her head, her face suddenly scrunching up at the state of the pavement. The path made of pebbles sealed in concrete was covered in inch-wide black circles, some were brown or grey as well, but the majority were black. Newer circles of green or pink gave her the answer that she didn’t want to know, every single spot was where a student squished a piece of gum into the ground.

She raised her gaze again, trying to shove that knowledge from her active steps toward the main entrance. The doors themselves were nothing special, just a row of glass with plain concrete steps leading up to them. Above the doors, several large windows overlooked the entrance; the silhouettes of students inside could just be seen behind the glare of the sun.

A shiver ran down her spine, her muscles tightening automatically, the feeling of being watched overwhelming her senses. She glanced around, her body growing warmer under the mysterious scrutiny. A voice suddenly rose, above the rest inside her head. A clear voice amid the fray, directly into her head. Who are you?

Her breath stuttered, her pace freezing in place as her search for the gaze intensified. It had been the voice of a boy, his voice already dropped to a baritone, with an accent she couldn’t quite identify, yet seemed so familiar at the same time. She swept her gaze along the faces in the crowd, her skin itching as it finally landed on a dark-haired boy wearing all black leaning against the wall, strangely vivid golden eyes narrowed carefully at her. He almost looked like he was supposed to be in high school, his muscular build telling her immediately he was some kind of athlete. His skin was a warm amber tan, and his wavy, dark brown hair looked like he had just rolled out of bed before being hit by a windstorm. His features were sharp, narrow almond-shaped eyes observant. He was quite a bit taller than she was, probably closer to five-foot, eight. His posture was casual and curious, yet there was something about him that resembled a predator on the hunt.

Even as a redheaded girl with thick glasses and a tall skinny boy joined him there, he didn’t break his gaze, watching her even while responding to something the redhead said. She couldn’t say how, or why, but she knew the question was his.

She stared back, eyes wide, unsure of what was happening or what she was supposed to do next. She watched as he laughed, his eyes going to the redhead for only a split second before returning to her. His head tilted slightly at her, an amused tick pulling at the corner of his mouth.

She forced her gaze away, suddenly aware of how bizarre she looked, one foot frozen forward in a step she hadn’t fully taken. She mentally shook herself, continuing faster than before, pulling the door open with more force than she intended.

She paused once she made it through the second set of doors, the hallways now much busier than when she had taken her blur of a tour the week prior. Tall, thin, blue lockers lined the walls of the hallways, and to her right, the three gyms the school sported lined the entire side of the building. She glanced to where she knew the office to be, off to her left, before pulling her written-out schedule from her coat pocket. To say what had occurred outside was strange would be an understatement. Despite the many places she had gone, nothing like that had happened before. Then again, she was growing up, and her father had warned her that boys might start noticing her in different ways and that those thoughts tended to be stronger. She wasn’t sure though, something felt off. It was very direct. For the moment at least, she wanted to forget it happened, to just go on with her planned, predictable first day of meeting her new teachers and classmates that she would only know for a short while before moving on again.

She turned around the short wall that hid the stairway that rested beside the entrance, heading straight down the long staircase, her footsteps echoing in the empty, tower-like space. Her locker was in the basement, not far from the stairs. She rolled her eyes as she passed the boys’ locker room, hearing the younger kids inside yelling nonsensical insults at each other before the first class of the day began.

She glanced at the paper in her hand, following the numbers down until she reached her own. She put in the combination that her father had ever so helpfully made a song for her to remember by; forty-two, thirty, forty-six. The tune was so annoyingly catchy, she wasn’t worried about suddenly forgetting it.

The locker opened with a slight creak, the inside a muddled mess of peeling tan paint, rust, and black spray paint attempting to block out the curse words someone had carved into the back. She slid her backpack down her arm, catching the strap before it hit the floor, and hanging it on the inside hook. She then slipped her anorak off, revealing the light green jumper she wore underneath, having to push the anorak carefully around her backpack. As usual, with thinner lockers, she wondered how difficult fitting everything would be after having more than just her binder and a book inside. It didn’t matter though; she never stayed long enough for things to build up anyway.

She jumped as a blaring beep rang out through the hallway, other students hardly moving at the noise. She quickly unzipped her backpack, her schedule wrinkling slightly as it was pressed into her lower palm by her last two fingers. She pulled her binder free of the bag, the question of why she hadn’t pulled it out before putting her backpack in the locker coming to mind.

With a quick slam of the locker, she spun on her heel, lifting the paper once again. Her first class was on the top floor; in fact, most of her classes were. She went to the stairs she had gone down earlier, stopping short as she just about slammed face-first into someone dressed in black. “Sorry,” she murmured, glancing up, ready to continue on her way before stopping short.

Sharp golden eyes looked down at her, an odd look on the boy’s face. “Hi,” a small smile played on his lips.

“Hi?” She tried for a smile back, it probably came off more like a grimace. She swerved away from him, reminding herself once again to return to her plan. Ignore the weird boy.

She practically ran up the two flights of stairs, stopping as she reached the top. The large windows she had seen earlier opened up beside her. She walked along the hall until she got to the room her geography class would be in on the left side of the hall.

She sucked in a breath before crossing the threshold, posters covered the walls; historical figures, geographical sights, and nearly decade-old memes alike were stationed around the room. Rows of desks were laid out in front of her, and only a few of the seats were filled. In the back corner of the room, beside the row of windows looking out the front of the school, was a large metal desk. An older man engrossed in a book sat, calmly sipping what she guessed was coffee from a travel mug.

She approached him carefully, extremely aware of how her fingers tightened around her binder. “Sir?” She forced her voice out, holding back a wince at her awkwardness. She’d been through this enough, why hadn’t that changed yet?

The man, Mr. Wilson, immediately set his coffee down, looking up at her with raised eyebrows, extenuating the wrinkles on his forehead. “Can I help you?” He reached for a bookmark that was resting on the desktop, quickly stuffing it into the page before closing the book with an audible snap.

“I’m Annamarie,” she began. “I’m new.” She stopped, waiting for him to take off from there.

“Oh yes,” he reached for a pile of paperwork, flipping through them quickly before finding what he was looking for. “We’re in the middle of learning about South Asia currently,” he glanced at her, holding out the small pile of papers in his hand. “Keep up the best you can, we’ll see about whether you’re able to take the test we have at the end of the week.”

She nodded, only half paying attention as a random pop song began playing over the loudspeaker. She blinked in confusion before turning her attention back to her teacher.

“Your seat will be third from the back over there,” he gestured to the last row beside a short row of cabinets that sat along the wall that connected to the hall. She gave a nod and a small ‘thank you’ before starting to turn. “Thank you, Ms. Olson,” he stood from his chair, grunting a little at the motion. She paused at the use of her last name, unusual in her experiences in schools as of late.

She went to her seat, sinking down into her chair and placing her binder centred before her. She folded her hands in her lap just as a flood of students began to come in, chair after chair being filled across the classroom. She fiddled with her fingers, wondering if this was the type of teacher to introduce her as a new student or not. Most were, but there was the occasional blessing of them letting her fade into the background without such a spectacle.

Her hope for any possibility of an easy class period was crushed as right when the loud beep that signified class had started, the boy with the golden eyes rushed through the door. “Mr. Samuels,” Mr. Wilson walked between the far two rows of seats, not even looking at the boy. “Pushing your luck again, I see.”

“It hasn’t failed me yet,” the boy let out a laugh, taking a step towards the row of seats she was seated in before stopping. Surprise filled his gaze when he looked at her, one eyebrow quirking up before the amused smile she had seen him with earlier returned. Anna couldn’t help the narrowing of her eyes, the boy’s accent catching her memory. It sounded so familiar, yet she couldn’t identify it.

Mr. Wilson turned, frowning at the boy who was just standing in place. “Did you forget where your seat is, Mr. Samuels?”

“Nope,” the boy had the decency to flush slightly as a couple of giggles came from somewhere in the room. He continued the path until he stopped at the seat directly in front of her own. Great.

Just my luck… she thought as he looked over his shoulder to give her another glance.

“I’m Jacob,” he whispered, giving her a small grin.

“Anna,” she mumbled.

“I have a feeling we’ll keep running into each other,” his grin grew slightly before he turned back to the front.

She stared at the back of his head for a second longer, wondering what she did to deserve this. This is going to be a long couple months.

____________________________

Anna’s day seemed to drag by, with each of her teachers doing exactly as she predicted them to do. What she hadn’t expected was for Jacob to be in three of the four hours before lunch. He had seemed to appoint himself to be her personal tour guide for the day, easily keeping pace with her.

She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be creeped out, flattered or annoyed; maybe a bit of each. He kept asking questions that didn’t seem to make any sense, about where she had lived, her family, et. cetera. After him doing this for a while, she just stopped paying attention. She couldn’t figure out why he was so intrigued, she couldn’t be that interesting.

She now found herself with a tray of food, momentarily paused as she looked across the crowded cafeteria. Each table seemed to have its established group, some reflecting the classic clique tropes that were so often seen in so many shows and films, while others were harder to identify. As many times as she had done this, it never got any easier.

The cafeteria itself was decently sized, based in the basement of the school. Large windows looked out to a small blacktop, the large green field behind the school beyond it. Behind her, students were still filing into four separate lines for food, flowing in from the open connection to the hallway, some cutting between tables while others passed through evenly spaced openings. The walls were plain white, excluding a strange mural that covered the far wall: different foods spilling out of a lunchbox, faces painted onto each.

Friend groups were so often made within the first couple weeks of the school year, leaving her to fend for herself in situations like this. Most of the time she didn’t mind, being alone wasn’t as bad as the rest of the world thought it to be. Even so, it didn’t stop her from wishing she had friends to talk to. The closest thing she had to a friend anymore was her cat, as she had left the one friend she had back in London four years prior.

She spotted an emptier table in the far back corner of the space, the students seated there eating in silence. She quickly made her way to the table, picking the seat furthest from any of the others seated there.

Within seconds, just as she was picking up her apple to take a bite, a kid, probably twelve years old, plopped himself down in the seat directly to her left. His most notable trait was the wild mop of curly, light brown hair atop his head. He grinned at her, his rounded baby face making him look even younger than he probably was. His piercing light blue eyes slid over her, the action catching her off-guard.

“Hello, Angel,” He leaned towards her, his prepubescent voice dropping low, and the attempt at trying to sound older than he was almost funny. Almost. She glanced at the other students sitting at the table, none of them paying attention or caring enough to look to see what was happening. That, or this was a normal occurrence here. “What’s your name?” He wiggled his eyebrows at her, his lips curling into what could barely be called a smirk.

She tried to subtly turn away from him, hoping he’d take the hint and leave her alone.

“Oh,” his voice drawled out, “mysterious. I like that. Tell me though, did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

She cringed at the classically overused line coming from a young kid, hiding the look on her face by taking a bite out of her apple. She was disappointed to find that it lacked the characteristic crisp crunch as she began to chew, at least momentarily relieved that she had an excuse not to respond.

“I hope you know CPR because you take my breath away,” his voice continued next to her. “Can you hold my hand, I want to be able to tell my friends about how I’ve been touched by an angel.”

She took another bite, confused about how anyone could be so socially inept to continue this cursed conversation if it could even be called that.

“I guess you can kiss heaven goodbye, it's a sin to look that good. You are so hot, it’s girls like you that are causing global warming.” She just about choked on her bite, her face scrunching in disgust. “Tell me your name, I’m sure it’s as beautiful as you. If not, you can just take mine.” She could see him wink at her in her peripheral vision.

“Evan,” the sharp voice of a girl made them both turn. A short girl her age stood a metre away with her hands on her hips, her annoyance clear. Her bright ginger hair was cut just below her shoulders, framing her face. She had an almost pixie-like look to her features, full cheeks, and wide, incredibly dark brown eyes, hints of red flashing in the light. She was very pretty, but that fact was overshadowed by her roughly ripped jeans and a baggy grey sweatshirt. Thick, black glasses rested on her freckled nose, only intensifying her glare. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Rachel,” Evan’s face broke into a grin. “You must be tired, after all, you ran through my thoughts all night long.”

“How many times do I have to tell you to leave people alone?” Rachel huffed, completely unfazed. “Haven’t you tormented us enough?”

“No need to be jealous, Spitfire,” Evan completely turned his attention to the other girl, much to Anna’s relief. “You know you’ll always be my number one.”

“Don’t call me that,” Rachel spat, crossing her arms and popping a hip as she shook her hair away from her face. “Just leave the poor girl alone.”

“Sorry, I got lost in your eyes there, do you happen to have a map to your heart?” Anna was becoming more convinced by the second that this boy learnt how to speak by reading awful pickup lines from the internet.

“Just shut up,” Rachel’s jaw set, chin tilted up in defiance. She turned her attention to Anna, expression softening slightly. “You can move if you’re uncomfortable, we have room at our table.”

Anna nodded, a warm feeling beginning to release her tense muscles. “Thank you,” she offered a smile.

“You’re British?!” Evan whirled back to her, suddenly slack-jawed, like the fact that she had an accent made all the difference.

She felt the urge to shake her head in exasperation, internally rolling her eyes. The way Americans responded to hearing the way she spoke was growing old. You could very well tell them magic existed and they would react the same way.

He made a loud humming noise, tilting his head as he looked her over once again.

She stood before he had a chance to begin speaking again, picking up her tray as she did so. She moved hesitantly to Rachel’s side, watching the other girl’s face carefully, looking for any sign that she hadn’t meant her offer.

They began to walk, Rachel glancing at her a couple of times before gesturing to a table close to the dish return station. Anna stopped, confused at the sight of Rachel sliding into the seat opposite of Jacob, rolling her eyes at something he said. The redhead looked at her quickly, probably just realizing she hadn’t followed to sit.

Anna took a breath, making a split-second decision to continue on, finding herself in the empty spot next to Jacob. As weird as the dark-haired boy was, there were worse things. She already knew, even with the prolonged stares and questions, he was a better deal than Evan.

She hoped anyway.

Just as the thoughts ran through her head, he turned his attention to her, an amused grin dancing on his lips. “Evan, huh? Ow!” He jerked back, sending an indignant look at Rachel, who, Anna just realised, had kicked him under the table.

“You deserved that,” the girl snorted, plucking a grape from the small vine she had on her tray.

“I’m just saying,” he protested. “On her first day, what are the chances?”

“Quite high, actually,” Rachel grumbled.

Anna looked to the silent, third member of their party. A tall, lanky boy was hunched over his food. He was pretty thin, his cheekbones more defined than what she supposed they were supposed to look like. His skin was pale, like he spent all day inside, hidden from the sun. His eyes were a surprisingly rich blue; dark, but not quite navy, with prominent dark circles underneath them. He wore a rumpled blue flannel over a plain white tee shirt, and his short, mousy brown hair was decently neat, though rumpled in a couple of places near the back. Most worryingly though, she couldn’t help but notice the distant stare he wore, staring unseeingly at his food. She wasn’t sure if he had even noticed her presence yet.

Rachel cleared her throat, the boy turning slightly to look at her, blinking his eyes curiously. “This is Ben,” she introduced with a smile.

“Hi,” she greeted, her voice stunted. “I’m Anna.”

He gave a small, awkward wave with a fork held between his fingers. “Nice to meet you.” His voice was so quiet against the noise of the cafeteria she had to strain to hear him.

“Thank you,” Anna addressed Rachel, the other girl regarding her with unreadable eyes. “Really.”

The redhead shrugged, eyes glancing at Jacob for a moment. “Evan’s been at it for months, it started a little odd, but now it’s getting excessive.”

“Either way,” Anna shook her head lightly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, I did.” Rachel huffed.

Jacob let out a soft snort from beside Anna, she frowned at him, unsure of what he was laughing at. “You just want an excuse to yell at him again at this point,” he told her. “You complain about him all the time, but you love shutting him down more than you hate him.”

“Go eat a sock,” Rachel glared at him, the strange phrase passing through her lips easily; like it was normal.

“Tried that once,” Jacob’s voice was dead serious, his face deadpan. “Not all you chalk it up to be.”

Rachel let out a loud groan, laying her forehead down on the table to the side of her tray. Her hair draped out over the clear tabletop, pooling out in a fan-like shape around her head.

Jacob let out a snicker, turning her attention back to him. He silently moved his hand to his plastic utensils, he noticed Anna watching him, giving her a playful wink as he lifted the fork into his hand. Slowly, he reached out, angling the plasticware down towards Rachel’s hair, dragging it lightly through the bright locks.

Instantly, Rachel’s head shot up, Jacob pulling his hand back to avoid stabbing her head. Her eyes were wide, mouth parted. “You-” her indignant stutter caused a burst of laughter from him. “You TURKEY!”

He only laughed harder, his face turning red from the effort. Anna bit her lip to prevent her own giggles, Ben looking over at his friend with amused concern. Jacob’s laughter began to die down, his eyes sparkling when he opened them. “I’ve always wondered what it was like to be a turkey,” he managed. “Though, it might ruffle some feathers.”

“Stooop,” Rachel’s face twisted into a grimace.

“Aw, don’t get a fowl mood,” Jacob leaned an arm on the table, a smug grin growing across his lips.

Rachel pulled another grape from the vine, lightly tossing it at the dark-haired boy. It bounced off his chest, his hands instinctively flying up to catch it as it fell.

He raised it like one would toast a glass of champagne before popping it into his mouth. “Thanks,” he quipped.

Rachel rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything more. It was clear she wasn’t truly annoyed with a hint of a smile pulling at the edge of her mouth.

A pang of jealousy coursed through Anna as she watched them banter, and the fact that she didn’t have anyone to joke with as they did became more and more noticeable. At the same time, the clear care they felt for each other warmed her heart, and though Ben hadn’t said much at all, the looks he shot at the others were filled with the same sentiment. Yes, Jacob was weird, but for the first time in years, she felt accepted by anyone her age.

Hope began to rise in her chest, an undeniable desire to get to know these people making itself known. A part of her, a large part, wanted to see herself be friends with them. Now, the question was: how long until she was packing her bags once again?

Next Chapter

Taglist: @hxad-ovxr-hxart, @the-printed-words, @frostedlemonwriter, @on-noon, @my-cursed-prince, and @thesorcererspen. If you'd like to be added, please let me know!

[kinkykinard]

it's sophomore year and we're reading jane eyre. i'm really only half-invested in the book because i had a crazy extracurricular at the time that was using all my after school hours and i was having to catch up on all my classes on the weekends.

we had an in-class essay on jane eyre coming up one week. the friday before the essay (on tuesday, we had a complicating rotating block schedule), our teacher told us to watch the youtube videos she would be posting to our online class forum. however. the forum went down over the weekend. i didn't get a chance to watch the videos before it did, and was left wondering what i was going to do for the essay.

essay day rolls around. teacher says she has two sets of prompts: one for girls who had been able to watch the videos, and one for those who hadn't. i confidently picked up a paper with the second prompt and took a seat at my desk.

compare and contrast bertha's relationship to jane's relationship with mr. rochester.

simple, right? WRONG.

you see, in my crazy quest to catch up on all my classes, i misread the syllabus and was a day -- essentially 3-4 chapters -- behind where we were meant to be in the book.

i had no idea who bertha was. it was a closed-book essay. i had to improvise.

my only context for byronic heroes at this point was mr. de winter from rebecca, so naturally i began to draw comparisons between the new mrs. de winter and jane, between mr. de winter and mr. rochester, and between rebecca and bertha. i waxed poetic about how jane felt she could never measure up to the perfect wife bertha had been, how she would never be good enough, how mr. rochester secretly thought of bertha often and wished she was jane, you get the picture. i superimposed rebecca into jane eyre.

i picked up my completed essay, walked up to my teacher's desk, looked her dead in the eye, and said, "i have no idea who bertha is."

"oh dear," she said.

i sat back down at my desk only and opened up my copy of jane eyre to find the first mention of bertha, only to discover she was mr. rochester's crazy ex-wife he kept locked in the closet upstairs.

i got an 80 on the paper because, had i been correct in my comparison between the two books, i made an excellent argument. but also, i got docked 20 points for not knowing who the fuck bertha was.

p.s. wanna know what the video prompt was? "write a proposal scene between jane and mr. rochester. could have done it in my sleep without seeing the videos :)))))))))))))

Omggggg 😂😂😂

This is even better (worse??) than when I went into a final exam having only read half the book and had to literally make up the entire essay. I somehow pulled off an A- but I was sweating bullets the whole time.

I love this so much hahaha. Thank you for sharing!

[motownfiction]

byronic hero

Like many frustrated business majors before him, Daniel has to take one English class to earn his college degree. He decides to take it in his first year so he can get it out of the way. He’d been placed in advanced English classes in high school because of a scheduling error, and even though he didn’t hate it as much as he assumed he would, he kept with it because it guaranteed him a class with Sadie Doyle. He asks Sadie if she wants to take this English class with him in college, too, but her schedule demands she take a different one. He’s on his own. Just him and the books. It was never supposed to be this way. But to Daniel’s surprise, he kind of likes it.

All those years in advanced English classes must have paid off because every time the professor asks a question, Daniel is usually the only one who knows the answer. It makes him feel damn good, like he’s got a talent for something, even if it’s a talent he didn’t think he wanted. But it’s not just knowing the answers. It’s learning new answers (and finding new questions). It’s like stumbling into the fallen kingdom of Denmark with Fortinbras and winding the lyric turn with Wordsworth. More than anything, it’s the Byronic hero. Daniel likes that the best.

He’s never heard the term Byronic hero before this class. Maybe he’s heard it, but it’s never meant much. Toward the end of the semester, Daniel’s professor assigns excerpts from Jane Eyre, a book he’s never read in full but could probably give a full report about because of how often Lucy Callaghan talked about it when they were kids. The professor tells them that Mr. Rochester is what they call a Byronic hero: a guy who’s withdrawn, sullen, and brooding, but underneath all that lies a beating, vulnerable heart. Daniel feels his own heart beating.

He never wanted to be withdrawn. He never wanted to be brooding. But when your father ignores you even when you’re standing right in front of him, and when your mother asks you to look after your little sister as a brother and a father, you start to isolate. You start to put things into different boxes until eventually, you forget where the storage bin is. What choice did Daniel really have apart from privacy? What choice did he really have other than to hide the way he really felt until somebody asked those feelings to come out? He reads about Mr. Rochester, and he hates his guts. Is this what he’s really like, too? Is he unkind for reasons no one else can see? Is he a project? Alluring for an hour and a mess for the rest of his life? For the rest of Sadie’s life? For all of their friends? He’s glad Mr. Rochester loses everything in the end. It’ll teach Daniel himself not to go the same way.

The professor says that a lot of girls like Byronic heroes. Daniel thinks that might be bullshit. At least, he wants it to be. Girls deserve better.

Everybody does.

(part of @nosebleedclub february challenge -- day xxii! there i am, behind again, but it’s been super hectic)

[janeeyreheresy]

The Saint John

St John Rivers has ambitions of going to India to be a missionary. He wants Jane to come with him--as his wife. He is honest about it not being a marriage of love, purely of convenience, he thinks Jane would make a good missionary's wife and they could do a lot of good together. (Why he bothers about that now that he has some money is not something I can explain, but okay.) He says she was made for labour, not for love. 

Which is a shitty thing to say, but... she admitted something of the kind herself. This is a warning to you all--don't be self-deprecating.

I don't want to do a deep dive into St John. There has been a lot said about him by others, so I don't think I need to add to it. You know, I don't like comparisons. Old media or new media, mainstream or obscure, movies or books, what if I like both? What if both is good? And as both can be good, equally both can be bad. Just because St John sucks, doesn't mean Rochester doesn't. Both are bad. Jane doesn't have to be with either of them. She can find someone better. They're not the two last remaining men on Earth. And even if they were, she should still be with neither. She can stay single. Not for those self-deprecating reasons above, but because she deserves better.

There's too much focus on St John. I'd rather hear more about Diana and Mary. Gods know Jane needs female friends.  

I wish St John was a better character. I'd prefer him to be a normal guy, who'd become a brother to Jane. Heck, even better if he was the nice friendly curate that I mentioned before, in the Thornfield church, or whatever the church is called, the one where the wedding didn't happen. He'd end up being her true love.

Imagine Jane meeting him when she moves to Thornfield, the first Sunday she goes to church. They become friends, talk about faith and philosophy and whatever, they get on. But soon he leaves for his own parish. Jane feels lonely. Rochester arrives at the scene. All the shit goes down, yadda yadda. Jane flees Thornfield. She seeks shelter with the only friend she's got, at his new parish. (Imagine it's somewhere not too far, where Jane can afford a fare, it can still be the same Morton place.) He takes her in, and she slowly falls for him as she recovers from the ordeal and from her unhealthy obsession with Rochester. They see an advert in a paper that is looking for a Miss Jane Eyre. She writes to Briggs, gets her fortune, and somewhere on the way meets her cousins Diana and Mary and she shares the money with them. (St John is not her cousin in this AU, to avoid that coincidence.) Add in bit of a romantic conflict with St John thinking she might not want him after she gets rich, or that she's still in love with her former employer. They marry and live happily ever after. 

Most importantly, in this AU, his name is not St John.

I should have just made a post listing fanfic ideas.

Perhaps you think I had forgotten Mr. Rochester, reader, amidst these changes of place and fortune.

No, I don't think you have forgotten Mr Rochester, but you have no idea how much I wish you did.

She writes to Briggs, inquiring where Rochester is. Briggs writes back that he doesn't know. (Briggs to his associates: "the fuck is wrong with this woman? Are we sure that the money is safe with her?") She writes to Mrs Fairfax, twice, but gets no answer. 

What Could Have Been

This could have been the best part of the book, if Charlotte wrote it better. Jane getting the money, finding new friends/family, getting over Rochester, doing new things and going to new places. She should travel, go shopping with the girls. It would be a much better experience than the harrowing shopping trip with Rochester. Diana gives her some fashion tips, Jane finally discards the boring blacks and greys, shreds the idea of plainness. I think hers was more a case of "you're not ugly, just poor". She was not pretty, but neither was she that ugly. And not just that. She could do some charity work, help those in need, poor orphans like she used to be. And where's that dream of opening her own school? 

What Charlotte gives us instead is tedious talks with St John. It's obvious he only exists to make Rochester look better in comparison. Doesn't work on me, like I said, both are the worst, each in his own shitty way.

Jane entertains the notion of going to India, but not as St John's wife. He won't hear of it, as the two of them going to India as single people is not advisable. One day she's finally broken enough to agree to be his wife. As she's about to say yes, she hears Rochester's voice calling to her. It calls "Jane" three times. She goes to bed (it's night), wakes up early the next morning, packs a bag and gets on a coach to Thornfield.

Keep in mind, neither Diana nor Mary know anything of her unhappy love affair. This is why I say she needs female friends. St John knows only because he heard of it from Briggs. I wish she told them. I like to think that by hearing herself tell her story, she'd realise how awful Rochester is and forgets him. And if it's so necessary for her to travel to Thornfield, for closure or whatever, she should take Diana and Mary with her.

[forensicated]

04x25 - Chasing The Dragon

CID are on an OBBO on the Rochester Estate. They're bored and aren't even sure where their suspects are supposed to be. Jim insists that his snout has too much to lose to lie to him. Though how they can keep saying they've not seen anything given Jim's chair is wound back and his eyes are closed and Mike's slumped mostly below the level of the windows that he's side on facing on the back seat I don't know....! The only one sat up is Ted.

Malcolm and Pete spot some pretty spectacularly poor parking outside a bookies. Pete wants to pull him but Malcolm reckons he'll be out as soon as he's put a bet on and it's not worth the paperwork. Pete thinks the car looks hooky and he wants a look at it. "It's practically brand new...?" "That's what I mean!"

The CID boys have gotten out of the car and are looking around to stretch their legs. This time from a car that has caught Ted's eye. Luckily, he's watching because it's the drug deal they'd been waiting for! Unfortunately, however, the personal radios are playing up so Ted makes his way down by himself. The car speeds off before he can get to the bottom of the stairs so he runs to the CID car with the car radio and circulates the description of the men, car, and the registration.

Malcolm spots the car and has to press his horn for Pete. Pete has to choose between arresting the man who has just come out of the bookies or joining Malcolm. He chooses Malcolm. They chase the black capri and Pete thinks he made the right choice with Malcolm as he thinks nicking these dealers might just get him back into CID. The dealers drive erratically and crash so Malcolm and Pete get out to make chase. Pete manages to catch his but three punks stop Malcolm from catching his.

Ted, Jim and Mike catch them up and check the boot of the car and find a lot of drugs. The suspect is silent and refuses to even acknowledge them. In his search, Ted spots a skipping rope underneath the car and kneels to check it out further. There's a pool of blood slowly spreading... "Call an ambulance! Call an ambulance now!" A young woman looks over the balcony searching for her daughter. She spots the police around a crashed car and Ted holding the skipping rope and screams her daughter's name.

Viv accompanies the girl's mother to the hospital. The daughter has serious head injuries and has been rushed into surgery. Derek urges Tom to ensure that everyone involved files a report as soon as they're back and he wants to see Jim, Mike and Ted in his office. Derek asks how Tom is coping with being back. He thinks he's absolutely fine but Derek doesn't agree, he thinks he's looking and sounding much better than he has for a long time.

Ken and Claire are at a Laundrette to deal with reports of a fracas. Ken isn't happy as they get called often to deal with petty squabbles and it ties up a lot of police time. Two women are arguing over a machine, one claims that the other put her washing in 'her' machine and so she pulled it out. This has coated the floor with water and soap. Ken ends up falling flat on his arse. Claire shouts at the arguing women to shut up and orders the one who damaged the machine by forcing the door open to tidy it up.

As they bring their suspect in, Pete repeatedly tells Malcolm that they got to the car first so he is their collar. He doesn't want CID to get the glory when it's the job that can get him where he wants to be.

Derek is not in the mood to be messed with when CID arrives in his office. He shouts at Ted not to call him Guv but to call him Sir. He asks why he hasn't had a written report from them and Ted starts to say he thought it best that they came and spoke to him. Derek doesn't agree. Reg listens with his ear at the door as Derek tears them a new one.

Pete pushes the suspect into an interview room and tells him they have him hook line and sinker for driving a car full of skag and likely nicking the car in the first place. He's screaming in the man's face until Malcolm shouts at him to stop. He only stops for a few seconds though before adding manslaughter to his potential charges and asks who he's been dealing for.

Still, he stays quiet. Pete loses his temper, calls him a stupid little skag-end and storms out. Malcolm takes exactly the opposite approach - a typical good cop/bad cop measure. He sits on the table in front of the boy, asking in a soft and measured tone what his name is. This time he answers. He's called Michael Squire and he lives on the Rochester Estate. He didn't even see the girl, he was driving to get away from the police. He tells him not to listen to Pete. "You're dealing with me now."

It still remains touch and go for the girl, Reg tells him not to go through to tell Conway just yet as he's still bollocking CID. "What a voice!" he laughs before quickly covering. "... I could hear them through the door!"

Malcolm tells Alec that Michael doesn't know who the man who got away is, but he has given him a list of places that the man is supposed to go to tonight to get the money for the drugs. Alec praises him and goes through to charge Michael.

With Frank on leave, Derek agrees to let Pete and Malcolm see the case through. Malcolm is going undercover on the Rochester to try and nail him. He commends them for how they've handled the case so far.

The young lad asks Alec what will happen to him. Alec sighs, shakes his head and tells him to sleep on it.

The doctor comes through to talk to Viv and Debbie's mum. She tells them that Debbie is awake and asking for a drink. Viv comforts her mum as she breaks down in relief.

Pete is still full of the joys of what Conway said, telling Malcolm that he too would do good in CID. "I'm following this case through because I want that bloodsucker off the street!" Malcom reminds Pete. He's not interested in using it as progression. "I just don't like your methods." "Yeah well, they get results!"

Malcolm is welcomed into a party on the Rochester Estate and introduces Pete as his brother-in-law. They agree to catch up later. The man lets Malcolm in but won't let Pete in. Inside Malcolm hears a man threatening a lad - the one who got away from them that afternoon. The man wants his money and drugs but the police have ended up with them. The man won't listen to excuses and gives the boy until the end of the night to get them to him. Malcolm leaves the party and updates Pete who grabs the lad at the bottom of the stairs. He is terrified and stuck between a rock and a hard place. He gives the address of the big boss and the boys pass it on to Derek who takes it to Ted and the CID boys. (... Derek's calmed down as he doesn't react when Ted calls him guv.)

Pete and Malcolm wait for CID to arrive. Ted joins them in the car as Jim removes the prisoner to his. "Don't try anything silly, he's not as well brought up as we are."

Pete points out the big boss man's expensive flat and the flash Merc - the one that was parked outside the bookies that morning - just outside. Malcolm and Pete are sent by Ted to go and make him jumpy. Ted, Jim and Mike stay outside as backup to be 'ready when he lands.' A woman answers the bell and so Malcolm covers that they're simply looking for the owner of the car outside. She lets them up and answers the door with most of her top buttons open which definitely distracts Pete! She leads them inside the flat where her boyfriend welcomes them to make themselves at home. He makes the girlfriend get drinks but they refuse so she makes just him one. Malcolm asks him to get dressed so they can take him down to the station. The suspect laughs and says he's clean and the place is clean so it's a massive waste of time. He suggests they have a few drinks and relax. Pete says the same thing and then that they'll return with a warrant and take the place apart if he doesn't. He just scoffs and tries to buy them off. Malcolm shouts at him to get dressed and confiscates his car keys. "I need the car for the girl man." "We want to see what's locked in your garages.... sir."

They open the garage doors and find it full of obviously stolen property as well as at least 2 metal suitcases full of drugs. "Bingo!"